Chapter 35
BEST AND FINAL OFFER
The sight of her, rapidly retreating from him, was devastating. Darcy had made what he considered to be his final move, an offer of marriage in the face of her scandal. And she had refused him.
He had altered himself for her, humbled himself before her, and yet here he was still at the very same place he had always been.
Elizabeth, out of his reach; Elizabeth not wanting to marry him, not even to save herself.
She had allowed kisses and endearments, had spoken tenderly to him, had even intimated that she would, under other circumstances, marry him… Had it all been untruth?
He returned to Netherfield with heavy feet and an even heavier heart. To face the day ahead seemed impossible. He stood for a moment just outside the stable, eyes closed, imagining how he must be when he heard the news of her engagement.
“Darcy? You are well?” Bingley had drawn near, unseen and unheard. Darcy opened his eyes and wondered for a moment how long he had stood there.
“Well enough. Are you off for a ride?”
Bingley shook his head. “Returning from one. You are sure you are well?”
“No, not really,” he admitted. “I am thinking of…the Bennets.”
“One Bennet in particular, I should imagine.” Bingley gave him a reassuring clap on the back. “Come, let us go get something to eat.”
They walked into the house, finding Saye at the table with a newspaper and a cup of tea. “Georgiana and Mrs Annesley are having trays in their bedchambers,” he informed them. “Darcy, you are looking at bit Friday-faced for a fine Monday morn.”
“This bit of sunshine is not sufficient to make my Monday morning fine,” Darcy replied as he sat. A footman came and poured coffee, steaming hot, into a cup for him, and he nodded appreciatively. “This is the morning Elizabeth is to become Sir James’s betrothed.”
“Perhaps you ought to get over there first, make your own offer for her,” Saye said.
“I already did,” Darcy said quietly. “She will not have me.”
“That is a surprise,” said Bingley. “Jane feels certain she is in love with you.”
“If she is, it is not enough to accept my proposal.” Darcy sighed glumly. “She has no wish to be my infamous bride whom I married beneath a scandal. I told her I cared nothing for any of that, but she did not believe me.”
“Well, that was certainly selfish of you,” Saye replied, chewing on a piece of bacon.
“Selfish?” Darcy turned to his cousin. “How is it selfish to tell her I wish to marry her no matter—”
“Because no matter what you want, she wants exoneration. Women, eh?” Saye rolled his eyes. “They never do take the easy path. Always some sort of complication, some emotions that must be sorted out before a man can…”
The sound of his voice drifted away as Darcy became lost in thought. He had imagined himself so very different, so altered and yet, Saye was correct. In his conversation with her, he had sought to persuade her that he did not care about the gossip. But she did.
“You are correct,” he said, finally interrupting Saye’s rattling. “I thought only of my own concerns in the matter and nothing of hers.”
“She must love you, at least a bit. After all, Sir James is hardly a bad prospect. He is titled and wealthy enough. Of course that Jacobean pile of rubble he lives in leaves much to be desired… Has she seen Pemberley?”
“No, so for all she knows, it might also be a Jacobean pile of rubble.”
“If she was not in love with you, she likely would have leapt at the chance to marry Sir James,” Bingley offered tentatively.
“That is probably why she has delayed, hoping the truth would come out. Why else would she? She could have accepted him Saturday morning and spent Sunday enjoying the congratulations of her friends.”
“I should call him out. Settle things as gentlemen ought to,” Darcy said grimly.
“No, what you should actually do is elope with her,” Saye suggested excitedly. “Terribly romantic and suitably dramatic. You could be in London yet today and marry tomorrow by licence.”
“One needs to wait a week for a licence,” Darcy reminded him.
“You know the archbishop eloped with his cousin Mary, yes? And Mary is my mother’s intimate friend from her girlhood. Mother once saved their eldest son from drowning. Jumped right in the river and pulled him out.”
“Your mother is a wonder, but what is that to do with me?”
Saye shrugged. “The archbishop owes them. I daresay they will be able to see you get what you need.”
“You think your parents will bribe the archbishop to help me elope?” Darcy drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair. “It all seems a bit too fantastical.”
“Is she not twenty-one?”
Gad, there was another wrinkle he had not thought of. “I do not know. In Kent, in April, she was yet twenty. I heard Lady Catherine ask her that.”
“It does not signify. If needs be, you go to Scotland. You like it there,” Saye replied.
“Thankfully, we are not French. Do you know a man must have parental permission to marry up to age twenty-six there? We will be doing all of those people a vast favour if we make them Englishmen, I assure you of that.”
“You do know that is not the purpose of the war, yes?”
Saye shrugged. “It should be. In any case, France is out. Italy might do, or—”
“Perhaps I would do best to ask her age before we compose the list of countries which allow us to elope,” Darcy interjected. “But the larger issue remains. Elizabeth cannot be satisfied to have her reputation restored through marriage. I must clear her name.”
“Yes,” Bingley said enthusiastically.
“Whatever happened that night, it did not happen because she loves Sir James, or wished to entrap him into matrimony, or any of the other foolishness I have heard,” Darcy continued.
“Someone is lying, whether it is Sir James himself or someone else. And they must be found out and forced to admit the truth.”
“Challenge accepted,” Saye replied with a little mock salute.
“I did not mean you. I meant me.”
“You are busy eloping. I will remain here with Bingley and ferret out the truth.” Saye paused, his gaze on the ceiling. “You know, I do not think it was Sir James, at least not wholly. He might have helped spread it, but I do not believe he was the beginning of it.”
“Why not? When it is he who stands to gain what he wishes, it seems he is the obvious—”
“It is never the obvious culprit.” Saye shook his head. “Sir James is a decent fellow. I cannot think he would blacken his own name in such a way. There must be others, people who either were angry with Elizabeth or wished to see her put in her place.”
“She is Elizabeth to you, eh?”
“She will be Mrs Darcy by the next time I see her, yes? And thus my cousin.” He considered it a moment, then said, “Shall I call her Mrs D? Or perhaps Libby? I heard of an Elizabeth called Libby once and thought it charming.” He thought a moment more, then wondered aloud, “Or was that a cat? It may have been a cat, but nevertheless I think it sweet.”
“Elizabeth will do,” Darcy replied drily. “Back to the gossip—at the assembly, I heard several of the matrons gossiping about her, saying she was chasing Sir James all about the country.”
“Which ones?” Saye enquired. “I cannot be expected to interrogate every middle-aged matron in the county.”
“I do not expect you to interrogate anyone,” Darcy replied but then named the women he had heard gossiping about Elizabeth that night. “Chiefly Lady Lucas, I must say. She was the one who thought it bold.”
“My sister has no love for Elizabeth,” Bingley offered, looking grim. “I hate to say it, but she might have thought the rumours would cause Elizabeth to marry Sir James thus leaving you free for her.”
Darcy groaned but could not deny that. Miss Bingley had remained at the party long after Darcy and Georgiana left that night. It was wholly possible that she took a small thread of something she saw and spun the tale from there.
“Then we will make it your task to get the truth from her,” Saye informed him.
Thinking of that night also brought another grain of suspicion to Darcy’s mind. “Georgiana.”
“What about her?” Saye asked.
Darcy pressed his lips together, unhappy to admit what he was thinking.
“She behaved very oddly at dinner, and I believe she felt Elizabeth was keeping Sir James and I both on a string. I hate thinking it of her, but seeing how she was… It might also have been that she saw something she misunderstood and took it from there?”
“I cannot think she would do so, but it bears talking to her about it,” Saye agreed. “What about Mr Collins? Still smarting from Elizabeth’s refusal of him?”
“I suppose it could not hurt to ask, but no, I should not think he would wish to see her married higher.”
“Perhaps he only wished to blacken her character, a revenge of sorts. Stop her from marrying you specifically.”
The two men debated awhile longer, discussing the various persons in the town. When it was through, Saye was positively electrified, eager to begin applying the thumbscrews to anyone and everyone who he believed might have contributed to the troubles Elizabeth faced.
And Darcy was no less anxious, eager to clear her name and persuade her to become his wife. “Let us begin with a visit to Ashworth,” he decided. “Saye, might I presume you will attend me?”
Saye said he would, and the two men were shortly off.